


If U Love Me Now

by araliya



Series: The Siken Diaries [2]
Category: Glee RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-04-05 16:48:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14048577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/araliya/pseuds/araliya
Summary: If U Love Me Now - MUNA





	If U Love Me Now

**Author's Note:**

> If U Love Me Now - MUNA

_ “Eventually something you love is going to be taken away. And then you will fall to the floor crying. And then, however much later, it is finally happening to you: you’re falling to the floor crying thinking, “I am falling to the floor crying,” but there’s an element of the ridiculous to it — you knew it would happen and, even worse, while you’re on the floor crying you look at the place where the wall meets the floor and you realize you didn’t paint it very well.”  _ _  
_ _ ― Richard Siken _

 

Chris is alone when he sees it, which, in hindsight, is probably a good thing. He hates being vulnerable, hates letting anyone know that he’s anything but a well-oiled machine. Machines can’t be hurt- they can be taken apart and put together and they’ll work just the same. Dents can be hammered and scratches can be painted over. Lost screws can be replaced.

 

He’s not much like a machine right now, though. The phone falls from his lax fingers and hits the marble counter with a dull thud, muffled by the chunky blue casing. The few seconds the screen usually takes to go black suddenly seems like a few  _ hours _ , and Chris doesn’t know why he didn’t hit the off button as soon as he saw it. 

 

The image taunts him, floating above unfamiliar and unfeeling words- words systematically knit together to form a pretty little lie. Chris’ fingers grip the edge of the counter but his slick palms slip and falter and his knees falter with them. 

 

Chris finds himself on the floor, tears slowly blurring his vision. They don’t fall, but his head has begun to pound and his cheeks have gone red, and what a picture he probably makes. 

 

Chris feels helpless. He wants to grapple for the phone, to press at the familiar contact that’s always the first on the list, to hear a voice that threads through his dreams at night and fills his life during the day. 

 

It’s of no use, Darren won’t come to the phone-  _ can’t _ come to the phone, and the knowledge of this is almost crushing.

 

Chris knew it was going to happen, so why is he crying? 

 

The acrid smell of whatever he was cooking on the stove burning pulls him up and out enough to turn off the gas, but it’s too late, the smoke alarm has been set off. 

 

And that’s how Darren finds him, knees bruised from the cold tile, back pressed against the kitchen cabinets for some semblance of support. 

 

Chris curls his arms around his neck as Darren holds him, and he tries not to let his tears join Darren’s as the piercing screech of the alarm wails overhead.


End file.
